


Finding Myself in Your Space

by EverTheRenegade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Universe, F/M, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:28:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverTheRenegade/pseuds/EverTheRenegade
Summary: Bellamy finds himself spending time in Clarke's room when she leaves Camp Jaha





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that popped into my head and I put into writing all in one day, let me know what you think!

The first time Bellamy found himself in her room, it had been two weeks since she left.

They had been cleaning out the chancellor’s office since she was no longer there to fill it, making space for Kane, for Abby, and for a little bit of himself even if he didn’t feel like he deserved it. 

He’d dug out a barely used notebook, small sketches in the margins next to lists of things to do, to make, to explore. It makes him smile for a moment, reminding him of the plans they had for a future they had hoped to build. _Together_.

Flipping the book closed, his lips tug down into a frown, the memories quickly turning sour as he remembers her walking away. Away from the camp, from her makeshift family, from him. 

He shoves the book into his back pocket, continuing to search through the office, before wandering towards her room, if he could even call it that anymore. 

Pausing at the doorway, Bellamy took a breath, almost reaching out to knock before mentally kicking himself. He pushed the door open and exhaled. 

Nobody had been in here for weeks, maybe longer, with the possibility that Clarke had been sleeping in the office or on the workshop bench while he was away in Mount Weather. The room was in disarray; discarded clothing piled on and around a chair in the corner, an assortment of books strewn across her desk and bed. Even the small bookshelf was unorganized, things shoved together haphazardly, dead flowers in jars, more obvious signs that she wasn’t spending her time here relaxing. 

Sighing, he stepped in, and pulled the notebook from his pocket. The room smelled like her, ever so faintly, and he didn't want to explore how he could pick that up, or why it calmed him, if just for a moment. Without really thinking he sat at the foot of her bed, staring at nothing while simultaneously taking in the whole space. He could feel the emotions churning in his chest, anger and sadness and longing, guilt and hurt, all of it twisting together until he felt short of breath. 

Together hadn’t meant anything, and now he was here to bear it all alone. 

He wanted to scream, ask her why why _why_ she thought he could do this without her. All of the unspoken things between them, and this one he could just not understand. Anger coursed through him, deep and thunderous. His hands clenched at his sides as he recalled their last conversation, his mind whirling while he tried to figure out what he could have done differently. He remembers her lips pressing to his cheek, how he had wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her there, wondering if he had just turned his head, just showed her how much he needed her there, would she have still gone? Chucking the notebook onto the bed he got up, slamming the door on his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

Camp felt chaotic despite their best efforts to keep it in order. Between organizing search parties, hunting, and working on expanding the camp into something that would be livable long term. Their makeshift counsel alleviated some of the stress, but Bellamy still felt himself yearning for someone to talk to that really understood. 

It was one of those days, a month later, where it all felt like too much for him to handle on his own, when he found himself making his way to Clarke’s door. He knew she wouldn’t be there, but the realization still hit him hard from time to time, especially when he hadn’t even noticed that was where he was heading. 

He ducked through the doorway, closing the door quietly behind him, and collapsed on the bed. Almost immediately he felt a lump rise in his throat and sighed, letting himself fall apart if only for a second. 

Bellamy knew in this position of leadership he needed to hold himself together, stay strong, bear it so no one else had to, but he couldn’t help thinking about when he didn’t have to do it alone. For a moment he tried to push his sadness down and replace it with anger, but all the fight was gone. He was tired of being mad at her, he just wanted her to come home.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breath and sitting up. Absentmindedly he began stacking the books at the foot of the bed, moving them to the desk. Standing up, he moved to the shelves, moving things around to make room for the stacks on her desk. As he organized, he let his mind wander, thinking back to the way Clarke had looked to him at Mount Weather, and he knew how to be the strength she needed. 

How he had wanted to reach out to her as they silently walked through the dining hall, how he had stayed at her side when the others started to falter, how he had begged her to just come back into camp, offered her forgiveness.

Bellamy didn’t want to acknowledge that he missed her for more reasons than being a co-leader, but there were some days when he longed for her reassuring touch, her eyes locking with his in an unspoken language, the way she would smile when he didn’t realize he’d maybe been staring a second too long. 

His mind wandered into what ifs then, if he had offered her more than just forgiveness at the gate, if he had told her he couldn't do it without her, if he had reached for her all those times, or had smiled back when she caught him staring. He shook his head, not daring hope to creep into his chest, and brought himself back to the present.

Her room looked substantially better, save for her disheveled bed, which he couldn’t bring himself to straighten up knowing it might have been the last place she’d been before everything went to shit. 

With a sigh he ran his fingers through his hair, gathering himself before heading back out into the chaos.


	3. Chapter 3

He was back the next day, but this time it was deliberate. 

There had been a fight in their makeshift mess hall. He wasn’t sure how it started, but he could hear Jasper’s yelling from outside. When he arrived, Jasper was standing on a table, glass of who knows what sloshing around in his hands as he slurred at the gathering crowd. 

“- so keep building, planning for the future, don’t even think about all the people we _murdered_ to get here!”

“That’s enough, Jasper.” Bellamy’s voice cut through the chatter, and Jasper swiveled on his heel to find him. 

“Were their lives _enough_ for you, Bellamy? Or do we have to keep killing to live this life of luxury?” He gestures broadly at the dilapidated space station-turned cafeteria, full of things taken from Mount Weather. 

Bellamy pinched his nose between his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath because he so did not feel like dealing with this right now. Somehow, Jasper didn't understand doing what was necessary to save their people, and Bellamy couldn't seem to make him. Briefly he imagined Clarke at his side, stepping up to talk Jasper down when he couldn't. When she needed to be the strength he didn't have.

Thankfully, Monty’s voice broke the silence, saving him from losing the temper that's been building for weeks.

“Jasper, come on, get down. You need to move on. They were just doing wha-”

A bark of laughter ripping from Jasper’s throat had Bellamy’s eyes shooting back up. 

“Move on? _Move on_? Sorry the rest of you are so used to killing you can’t feel remorse, but I can’t move on from genocide!”

Jasper swiveled back to Bellamy then, a cruel smirk twisted onto his face as they locked eyes.

“What’s wrong Bellamy? Don't have your princess here to stick up for you? Clarke’s brave little soldier, lost when there’s no one left to kill. I could give you a name… if she’s not already dead out there.”

Cold sweat trickled down Bellamy’s spine as he moved to Jasper, but Miller knocked him in the knees before he could get there. Thankfully, Jasper collapsing caught everyone’s attention, and he was able to take some deep breaths before slipping away unnoticed. 

He beelined to Clarke’s room, throwing himself down on the bed without a second thought. 

She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be. They were going to find her. 

He wasn’t just a soldier, she wasn’t just using him to carry out her orders, she couldn’t be. 

They needed each other, they worked together, they had to. 

But then she left him. Together didn’t work that way. 

He was aware of the tears stinging in his eyes but he swallowed down the lump in his throat and settled for punching the pillow instead. He wasn’t expecting to hit something firm underneath. 

Sitting up, he pulled a slim book from under the pillow, a pencil rolling out onto the floor. Briefly, his mind brought him back to Octavia, when she was younger and kept a notebook— a diary— under her pillow. He hesitated, hand hovering over the cover, when the door opened. 

Monty stepped in, quickly glancing around the room before stopping on Bellamy.

Bellamy froze, unsure if he should feel guilty or maybe even creepy for spending time sitting in Clarke’s room when she was nowhere to be found. But Monty smiled, taking a seat at the desk. 

“Sorry Jasper is a drunk idiot. I know I don’t have to apologize for him but… I feel like I should since he won’t even remember tomorrow.” Monty said, looking at his feet.

Bellamy huffed, willing the feeling prickling behind his eyes to disappear. 

“I guess I hadn’t considered she might be… _gone_ ” Bellamy replied, the thought sending chills down his spine again. She couldn’t be. No matter what had happened, he couldn’t deal with that.

“Clarke’s a fighter, you know that. We'll find her.”

“Monty…” his voice trailed off, trying to piece together a way to say what he wanted without giving himself away completely, “… what if we don’t find her, and I can’t… what if all this time I was just… her soldier?”

Monty’s eyes widened, then glanced away as if debating on what to say next. He took a breath.

“Bellamy, if you don’t remember how much you meant, you _still_ mean, to Clarke, then sure, you’re hopeless.” He paused as Bellamy narrowed his eyes at him. “Think about what Jasper is going through, and think about why. Do you see any similarities there? The difference is you still have time. Don’t waste it.” He clapped Bellamy on the knee then, standing up to leave, but Bellamy stopped him.

"Monty, how did you find me in here?" he asked slowly.

But Monty just smiled, sad but knowing, "Jasper would go back to Mount Weather to be closer to Maya if he could."

That night, Bellamy stayed in Clarke's room, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about the past, and what he needed to do in the future.


	4. Chapter 4

It was another few weeks before he remembered the book he'd found under her pillow.

The conversation with Monty had ignited a fire in Bellamy's soul. He was determined to prove Jasper wrong, to bring Clarke home alive, to show her that he wouldn't leave her, even if she had left him.

He had organized search parties and been on every single one himself, scouting and marking new territory along the way. When he wasn't out in the woods, he was mapping out where he'd been and where they needed to try next. It was nearing three months that Clarke had been gone when they first heard whispers of her whereabouts at a Grounder trading post. Miller had to nearly sedate him and drag him back to camp to regroup and gather supplies rather than continuing on.

That first night back, he couldn't sleep. _'Wanheda'_ the Grounder had whispered at the photograph Bellamy held out. _'Commander of Death'_ Jasper had scoffed when they brought the news back to camp. 

He was pacing, wandering, fear and hope coursing through his veins, when he wound up at her door. 

Bellamy had crashed in her room after every search party brought him home without her. He would mentally go over his plans until sleep dragged him under, only to wake up raring to go again before the sun had risen. Tonight, however, he was far too awake to consider even laying down.

Something bubbled, warm and electric in his chest at the thought of finding her within the next week, but then there was the ice cold dread dripping down his spine, never allowing him to be too optimistic. This Grounder had seen her alive, and he tried to cling to that. 

His eyes flitted to the desk, a slim book wedged between it and the bed frame, and he felt that same curiosity that sparked when he'd accidentally punched it.

Without thinking, he pulled it out and flipped it open, a smile tugging at his lips.

Page after page was filled with scenes from around camp. Serious, thoughtful faces he recognized of his friends, his makeshift family either working or talking, or staring off into daydreams. It had always seemed that Clarke was working on something, whether she was in the med-bay, organizing hunting parties, doing inventory, anything, but as he looked at these pages he realized she had been taking everything in as well. He continued to flip through, but froze as he turned to a page featuring a familiar smile.

His hair was shorter, some scars that had long since healed over on his face, but he was staring at what was unmistakably a drawing of himself. 

Bellamy flipped through the next few pages, featuring half finished sketches of him. With each one he felt his heart beating harder against his ribs, until the book abruptly ended. 

He flipped through it again, taking in the detail on his face, his hands, his eyes, the scattering of freckles present every time, and his breath caught.

He got up then, crossing to the shelves he had organized and pulling out a similar looking book. Drawings of Wells, of Finn, of faces he hadn't seen in so long it hurt his chest, and then, him again. Younger, much younger, his hair slicked back and he huffed out a laugh, not sure why he'd ever let himself do that. 

Before he knew it, he had pulled down every sketchbook he could find, and in each one were pages upon pages of his face, his features, _him_ the way that Clarke saw him, and it made warmth spread through his chest. There was a piece of her he found in these pages that ignited a fire unlike any other inside of him, and with each page any anger he had felt faded away. All this time, these months with and without her, and he had been completely oblivious. He's not sure when he fell asleep, books scattered around him on the bed, but when he woke he was absolutely sure he was going to bring Clarke home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned to stop it here, but felt that I needed a reunion. So either read the next bonus chapter or don't, up to you!


	5. Chapter 5

He hadn't left her side since getting her out of that cave. 

Part of this was because he was scared she might run off when he wasn't looking, despite the way she had broken down in his arms the minute she was untied. The other part of it was that he was waiting for a good time to say what he needed to say to her. 

Unfortunately, Bellamy wasn't the only person thrilled to have her back, and so their trek back to camp had given them none of the alone time he had been hoping for. He couldn't help but notice that she seemed relieved any time someone filled up the space between them, like she was avoiding talking to him, and he began to second guess all of the things he had felt confident about, all the things that kept pushing him forward. 

It was on the fourth day, with just about another day before they reached camp, that he found a moment. Coming across the river had given the rest of the party an opportunity to wash up, and Clarke had asked to stay behind where they'd set up camp for the night. She was clearly busying herself, but Bellamy could feel her eyes on him whenever his weren't watching her every move. 

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face before he finally spoke up.

"Clarke…" she visibly tensed, and he took a deep breath, "I- I can't even explain to you how happy I am that you're coming home…" he paused, gauging her reaction through the shift in her body language, "So why does it feel like you don't want to?"

She stayed stock still, turned away from him and silent. He could just make out the fidgeting of her hands. Slowly, he stood up, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. It was then he heard the sniffling.

Fear blossomed in his chest and he gently turned her around --he was right, she didn't want to come back with them and he was forcing her -- but then she crushed herself into his chest and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Hey" he whispered, gently clutching the back of her head, his lips dangerously close to her temple, "I've got you, nothing is going to happen to you."

She let out a few more shaky breaths, sniffling into his chest before she finally spoke. 

"Bellamy, I am so sorry. I left you, I left all of you, and if you hate me, if you're angry with me, I understand, I just, I can't-" she broke off again, shaking her head against him. He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to piece together what she was trying to say.

"I don't hate you Clarke." He huffed against her temple, "I wanted to, I was so angry and I wanted to but… I can't hate you. I just wanted you to come home." He paused for a moment, debating, then squeezed his eyes shut, "I need you, Clarke, I couldn't do it without you. I-" He stopped when she moved, pulling her head back to look up at him, her arms still around his middle.

He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his near admission making his heart pound against his ribs.

"I wanted to think I could survive without you… I couldn't do it either." She looked away then, her own cheeks flushing, and all he could think to do was lean down and catch her lips in his. She froze, then melted into his arms, bringing her hands up to tangle in his hair as she kissed him back.

When they broke apart, her eyes brighter than ever against the red of her cheeks, he couldn't help but think he'd like to draw her this way if he knew how. 

"I need you, too" she whispered, her eyes squeezing shut, and he huffed out a small laugh.

He kissed her again, softer, slower, knowing now that they had time.

***

The closer they got to her room the more anxious Bellamy became. She had insisted he didn't need to walk her there, but he knew what she would find when she walked in, and he'd better explain now before he chickened out.

He held his breath as she pushed open the door and stopped short.

"What…" she breathed, stepping tentatively inside, Bellamy following cautiously. He could feel himself turning red, averting his eyes as she spun to raise an eyebrow at him.

"What the hell?" She said, and he wished he'd chickened out because now his mouth was dry and he couldn't explain even if he wanted.

"Did you go through my room?" She asked, turning to look more thoroughly.

"I, uh-- well," She turned back to him, a smirk and cocked eyebrow making him fumble even more.

When he finally spit something out, his head ducked, rubbing the back of his neck, he mumbled, "I couldn't sleep."

After a moment of silence he glanced up to see Clarke still standing there, arms crossed, eyeing him and chewing on her lip. She then turned, picking up one of the books and examining the page, a smile spreading across her face.

"This was the first day the hunters came back with a substantial amount of meat, a couple rabbits each I think. It was the first time you'd smiled in so long…" she trailed off, eyes roaming to another book. "This was when I brought you that Mythology collection from Finn's bunker… I think you had tried not to be happy but you looked at me like this and well…" she huffed a laugh, blushing, and he couldn't help but step closer and press a kiss to her cheek. 

He slid his arm around her waist and she curled into him, retelling each moment as he pointed them out.

It was a while later they found themselves curled around each other in her small bed, a pile of sketchbooks on her desk and soft smiles on both their faces. She was fidgeting again, like she wanted to say more but wasn't sure. He watched emotions flit across her features, until eventually she let out a huff and reached for the small bag she'd had with her the last three months. Bellamy sat up beside her as she pulled from it a small book, holding her palm flat over the cover.

"Bellamy... I don't want you to think that walking away from you was easy for me." Her voice was barely a whisper, and her hands began to tremble as she spoke. "What you did for me in Mount Weather, I will never be able to express what that meant. We said together, and then I left you and-" her voice broke, and she shook her head, shoving the tiny book into his hands.

With a furrowed brow he opened it, the first page a small sketch of him, standing at the gate of Camp Jaha, a scene taken in from outside of camp. When he flipped the page, though, there was writing , 'Day 1' scribbled in the top corner. As he began reading he felt warmth blooming in his chest. She was writing to him.

"I didn't know if I was going to see you again, but I needed you to know... if I didn't" she whispered, her eyes watching as her fingers picked at a loose thread in her jeans.

He hesitated, knowing full well he could read this and know everything she wanted to say, but instead he closed it, bringing his hand to her cheek and tilting her head up to him.

He searched her eyes, bright blue and collecting tears, for a moment before speaking, "I knew I would see you again, I had to see you again. I needed you to know that I love you."

Clarke's lips parted as she sucked in a breath, tears finally welling over, "I love you too," she breathed, smiling as she pressed her lips to his once more.


End file.
